


I Started A Joke

by xxthisbr0kencityskyxx



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman: The Telltale Series (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Mental Institution, Arkham Asylum, Hospitalization, Insanity, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mental Institutions, Sad with a Happy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-15
Updated: 2018-07-15
Packaged: 2019-06-10 16:15:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15295314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxthisbr0kencityskyxx/pseuds/xxthisbr0kencityskyxx
Summary: Bruce wants to prove to himself people can change- although for worst isn't what he had in mind. When Batman decides to go see 'Joker' in Arkham Asylum he can't say he's loving John's new look or perspective. Bruce wishes he didn't always have something to prove to himself. Maybe John was and always will be a bad guy or maybe it's not too late yet. Maybe he can still save him.This is more or less a one shot which might have a sequel or become a short story.





	I Started A Joke

**Author's Note:**

> I hope anyone who reads this enjoys it♡ I've spent way too long writing and editing it so I've finally decided to post it.

The ringing in your ears after a gunshot is unforgettable, comparable to riding a bicycle; you only have to experience it once to never forget it. Of course it has to end up with the person you swore you could change to be the one pulling the trigger; imagine further, the person you vowed to protect was the one taking the bullet. 

It was moving too fast. Everything was moving too fast but somehow time seemed to slow itself down and every movement was in slow motion. It was like a movie; a sick, tragic movie that had you dreading the ending because you knew nothing good would come out of it. The sight was enough to make Bruce projectile vomit everywhere; but he didn't. He swallowed the bitter bile and he held it in. Like he had when his parents suffered a similar fate years ago. He didn't hold in the scream. Within seconds he was beside him.  
"John..."  
Bruce almost wished his ears were still ringing so he didn't have to listen to the sounds of his friend choking on his own blood. Bruce could only stare into the bullet hole in Joker's chest, and in it showed the reflection of his own guilt ridden face. This was his fault. All of it.  
"John, H-Hey... It's okay... I've got you..."  
Bruce hadn't expected such a response, he almost wished Joker would've continued to choke instead of what he said. His lips were stained with blood and red dripped down his chin and soaked into his purple shirt. Another ragged cough, followed by blood splatters. But even then, that wasn't the response, as vile as it was. That's when he heard it; the sound Bruce had fallen in love with but had grown to despise. It started as a low chuckle, which lead to the laugh that spiraled into the obnoxious cackle Bruce knew all too well.  
"Is...Is this what you wanted, Bruce?!"  
"What..?! No...No of course not!" 

Bruce couldn't believe his ears. He wanted to tell him he loved him. He had wanted John to know that. Actions speak louder than words, but Bruce was never too good with words; he had hoped to have shown John love, but unfortunately John hadn’t been around long enough for Bruce to show him what love should actually be. The man Bruce had wanted so badly to love was dying in his arms.  
"You always...always have to be the good guy!"  
"No, John, I never wanted this-"  
"How many times do I have to tell you, Bruce? It's Joker now!" 

Bruce had thought that was the worst of it, when suddenly, he was socked in the face so powerfully he heard his jaw crack. He was caught off guard more than anything. His teeth were rattling in his skull as he spit out a mouthful of red, metallic tasting saliva. Bruce didn't have time to respond or even defend himself as he received another blow to his face that sent him to the ground again. He was seeing stars, and they weren't pretty. Out of all the years he'd been bruised and bloodied by Gotham's finest criminals, none had ever hurt as much as this. There was no physical pain; that had long numbed with Bruce's heart; what hurt was the look of pure hatred in Joker's eyes and the sound of his laughter at knowing he had nearly broken Bruce.  
"C'mon, bats! You can do s-sooo much worse! Look at me! Finish me off... I-I know you want to..."  
Bruce didn't waste any time steading himself again. He could walk away if he wanted, Joker would bleed out at this rate. There wouldn't be any hope left for him. But that was the dilemma; if Bruce walked away, he'd feel like a murderer, despite all Joker had done, he wasn't letting him die.  
"I will not fight you." Bruce managed to keep his cool, but he was burning inside.  
Bruce stared down at the other man with a hardened expression, trying not to let it slip that he was absolutely heart broken.  
"John...Please...I know you're still in there..."  
Bruce shouldn't have hoped for much, but he did. Although now, any hope came crashing down when all he received was a wad of spit right between the eyes, and the most hateful smirk he'd ever seen as the bloody saliva dripped down his face. "You make me sick, Bruce." With a final raspy cough, Joker's eyelids fluttered shut. Despite everything, being spit on, punched, stabbed, even the final comment, Bruce hadn't let go of the other man. He couldn't. This was his fault. His responsibility.  
John was dead, he knew this.  
But as the wailing of police sirens got closer and louder, Bruce knew for a fact: John was dead, but Joker was not. For some sad, sick reason, Bruce knew Joker wasn't going anywhere anytime soon; except back to the asylum.  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~  
It seemed like an eternity had passed by the time the GCPD showed up, though it had only been a couple minutes. Bruce didn't need to lift his head to know Gordon was the one standing over him; he didn't even have to say anything to know how disappointed Jim was. Bruce could just feel it...in everything; the air, his bones, his jaw. Everything, this whole mess, rested solely on Bruce's shoulders and he had the blood of anyone Joker had killed, on his hands. Bruce should've listened but he was blinded by his own self righteousness. Like Joker said, Bruce always had to be the good guy, even if it meant cramming Justice down everyone's throats until they were vomiting. It just didn't work. He was foolish to believe he could've fixed John and now look at him; that was just it though, Bruce couldn't.  
Bruce felt he'd done more harm than good and it left him with a tight feeling in his chest. Like a bullet wound.  
The bullet.

It was still in Joker's chest, and seemed to be weighing heavier with each struggled breath he gasped to inhale.  
"I can't tell you I'm sorry to say this, but the bastard deserved it."  
Bruce's eyes darted up to meet Jim's, but Jim had no interest in a staring contest right now and was lighting a cigarette. Bruce watched as flames from the lighter flickered, only for a second, then disappeared; he couldn't help but compare this situation to it. They had been on fire, everything was burning brightly and beautifully and it all seemed like it would be okay; but the feeling appeared and vanished just as it came. There was nothing left but smoke and ash. Bruce could even smell it.  
Jim took a drag from his cigarette, exhaling a long, exaggerated sigh, smoke followed. The sigh was bordering a growl by the time Bruce had heard it, and he knew Jim was using everything in him not to pull out his hand gun and finish off what Bruce had started. Joker.  
"He dead?" Jim mumbled, a hint of hope lingering in his voice.  
Bruce could only shake his head slowly. Everything was slow and heavy and dark.  
"No..." was all he could manage.  
Jim scoffed, "c'mon. Don't pretend you didn't know he had it coming."  
"What...What do you mean by that?"  
"Don't be stupid, Bruce. You're a lot of things but stupid ain't one of 'em. It had to be done." Jim took another drag from his cigarette and by then Bruce noticed he was clutching a pistol. Smoke was drifting from it.  
Bruce suddenly had that urge to throw up again. "Jim...."  
Gordon was still as stone faced as ever, "you wouldn't do it. We can't rely on The Batman anymore to finish a job like this...What did you want me to do? Stand there and allow more innocent people to die at the hands of this...this monster you helped create?" Jim dropped his cigarette to the ground and stomped it out. His hands, Bruce noticed, were shaking in fury, along with his voice.  
"He won't die, lucky bastard. I had to. I'm sorry. No one can blame me...I had to. He could've killed you."  
To neither of their horror Bruce leaned over and puked his guts out. The adrenaline had never gotten to him, but this time it was.  
Everything was on fire again. Although this time it wasn't a captivating flame dancing along the end of a cigarette belonging to a friend; this time the fire was blazing, and black smoke filled the air, drifting into the lungs of anyone caught in the middle of such a fire. It was hell.  
Bruce was usually so in control, so sure of himself, but as paramedics pulled him away from the scene he had no clue who he was anymore.  
Before Bruce knew it he was being hauled into the back of an ambulance, by then his vision was getting blurry; he wasn’t sure if it was from tears or smoke or whatever medication they'd just injected into his arm. There was a burning sensation, too. Somewhere. Oh, that's right, Bruce remembered, he'd been stabbed. A hand that he realized to be his own was covered in dark sticky liquid and had remained clutching his side. He wasn't sure if that's when the gunshot went off or not; when he'd been stabbed. Had the GCPD been there the entire time? Bruce knew it would all come back to him in the morning, for now he was just trying to wrap his head around this mess.  
What could he do? Gotham was burning to the ground around him; for once the smoke was too thick, and Bruce couldn't see through it enough to know when to make his next move, where to steady his feet. At this point there was no firm ground to stand on, just the remains of a city he'd failed. No matter how many times the ashes were gathered up in tight fistfuls, they'd always slip through his fingers to be carried away by even the faintest of winds.  
Everything was still moving fast and it was giving Bruce a headache. So fast, he hadn't even realized he was bandaged up until after he'd opened his droopy eyelids to see it. He knew he'd be okay, he always was. Batman had been hurt far beyond this and Bruce's body always took the beatings like a champ; it just felt so wrong this time.  
Everything was aching like it hadn't before. Bruce knew it was his chest that hurt most of all. He was heart broken, that, or had a fractured rib, he couldn't be sure.  
~~~~~  
The next morning Bruce wakes up with a stiffness in his back that feels as if he slept on a board. He might as well have, who knew how long he'd been in that hospital bed. However, Bruce hadn't been in the hospital for more than thirty minutes when Alfred came to his aid, like always. So as of now, Bruce was safely in his own bed, stitched up and wrapped in clean bandages, courtesy of Alfred.  
Although, 'safely' might be poor choice of words, considering half the city wanted to burn Wayne manor to the ground, with Bruce in it.  
And then it all came rushing back. Last night. It hurt, burned even, like the floodgates of hell had been opened and poured out everything they held back. Bruce was left treading for his life in the lake of fire. He always thought he'd been nothing short of an excellent swimmer, although now he was barely able to keep his head above water.  
The clock on his nightstand reads '7:45am.' Bruce hardly notices it when he goes to sit up, but it feels like his intestines have been yanked out and crammed back inside of him, tangled in knots and tied upside down. Before he can gag, Alfred is already offering a wastebasket that Bruce frantically grabs for and empties what is left in his stomach; to no surprise there's nothing.  
"You're running a fever, Sir," Alfred says, taking the wastebasket of bile from Bruce without even the slightest show of repulse.  
Bruce doesn't respond. Alfred hadn't expected him to; he does instruct that Bruce take a pill and hands him a glass of water. The pill goes down with a string of coughs but nothing more.  
Bruce doesn't know how to ask without indicating there might be more than platonic feelings, but he has to. For his own sanity if nothing else.  
"Alfred...About Joker...How is-"  
Before Bruce can finish, Alfred interrupts him sternly, but his voice is gentle, like he's trying not to make it appear his opinion will most definitely dictate his words.  
"If I may, Sir, I ask that you remain here to focus on recovering. As for...him. The doctors at Arkham, God help them, say he's going to pull through. Although, in the most humble of ways, Sir, I beg that you don't go off and do something stupid. "  
Alfred sounds concerned, like he was Bruce's own father, and he was, for the most part.  
Bruce's face softens. He doesn't mention how badly it hurts his jaw when he tries to smile out of sheer gratitude and nothing more.  
"I won't, Al, I promise. I was just...curious. I'm assuming only a handful of people know what really happened...Or has Waller released it to the world already?"  
For a moment, Alfred's shoulders seem to rise and he doesn't look as tired as he has lately. With being Batman's butler as well as right hand man, you'd think Alfred would have aged more than he did.  
"Not quite, Sir. I have a feeling this is only the beginning."  
Bruce leans back against the headboard, raising an eyebrow, "please, do tell."  
Alfred looks hesitant at first, as if he's inwardly torn between bending the truth a little or what his conscience is telling him to be right.  
"Master Bruce...We both know in situations such as this... Some men are willing to put not only their lives, but professions on the line to do what they believe is right-" 

Alfred pauses and Bruce doesn't press any further.  
"So...I take it Jim's been demoted?"  
"I believe so, Sir."  
"For what? Saving my life?"  
Again, Alfred looks hesitant, upset even. Bruce knows he has to get control of himself before his temper gets the best of him.  
"From what I've heard, Master Bruce, the GCPD were supposed to stand down until The Agency showed up-"  
Now it was Bruce's turn to respectfully interrupt, "Now wait just a minute. Jim's losing his job because he disobeyed an order which resulted in saving two lives?"  
Alfred could only nod, he looked tired again and Bruce dismissed him with a gentle word.  
The next couple days would be the hardest, Bruce knew. He just hoped it wasn't too late to turn things around, again. It seemed one side of Gotham hated Bruce Wayne just as ferociously as the other half hated Batman. By no means was Bruce giving up, but he was at a loss. The first step, he figured, would be apologizing. To the community and to Gotham itself. But how?  
~~~~~~  
Morning has long passed and Bruce, much to Alfred's disapproval, was up and ready to face the remaining evening. He doesn't watch the news or check any social media. Bruce knows it can't be true, but as he's reading through files in the Batcave, he begins to wonder if this is all just one big misunderstanding. He wants to slap himself the moment he thinks this; knowing full well it isn't a misunderstanding, not at all. He screwed up, and everyone knows it. He put so much faith into John Doe, saw so much potential... Bruce hadn't expected John- Joker, to react like he did. But who could blame him? The poor guy found out he was being used the entire time by people he assumed were his best friends. Much to anyone's interjection, Bruce hadn't been using John. He had only been trying to protect him. What a load of good that did.  
Bruce sighs quietly to himself, having to grit his teeth when he exhales. Apart from the stab wound, his ribs are fractured and bruised from all the falls. Bruce tries not to think of the look on Joker's face when it all went down, but then decides; maybe it was fair, considering Bruce had figuratively stabbed John Doe in the back.  
Bruce's phone vibrates suddenly, distracting him from his thoughts. He can't say he's prepared for what is being asked of him, but he can't turn it down, either. Why? Because he's Batman.  
~~~~~  
"Going out, Master Bruce?"  
Alfred's voice rings from the living room, and Bruce feels like a teenager who got caught sneaking out on a school night.  
"I'll be back so soon you won't even know I was gone."  
"Might I ask where to?" Alfred isn't even in the same room, but he doesn't have to be to know Bruce is now in full Batman getup, and going out to do who knows what.  
Bruce contemplates saying, 'no, you can't,' but that would be a horribly rude thing to say to Alfred who's only got his best interests at heart.  
"I know you'll disagree...But I've got to. He needs to be brought to justice. He needs me."  
"Who is this 'he' you speak of, Sir?"  
Bruce knows that Alfred knows, but just wants to hear him say it.  
"Dr. Leland called. She says Joker has been cooperative. She says he's also been asking for Batman since he woke up."  
"And why, Sir, has she contacted you personally and not the police?" Alfred mutters. Bruce knows Alfred isn't going along with this, but won't argue.  
"She says Joker insists that Bruce Wayne will take care of it. That he'll send Batman."  
"I see. And has Bruce Wayne agreed to this?"  
There is only silence now, followed by the familiar sound of the Batmobile speeding off into the distance. Alfred can only shake his head and pray Bruce isn't the one to end up with a bullet in him this time.  
~~~~~  
This shouldn't be funny. None of it should. It isn't, really. But of course, despite the fiery burning in his chest where the bullet had been removed, Joker was giggling to himself in a drugged daze. His bed had been relocated to the medical area of the asylum, and for just a little while, Joker was free. Aside from being so medicated he sounded intoxicated when he spoke, he was free. At least in his mind. Unfortunately, every time he went to move his hands, the cold, metal restraints reminded him he wasn't free, that he was chained to a hospital bed and at the mercy of Arkham yet again. It was so pathetically predictable it made him laugh. Any traces of John had left with a single tear in the back of the ambulance, and just like that he had died. Lost and alone.  
"Visitor for John Doe," came a voice from the other side of the steel door.  
Just hearing the name made Joker want to slash whoever's throat he could get his hands on.  
"Don't you people know it's not John, anymore! It's- Batman!" Joker cut himself off with a delighted shriek, a nasty cough catching in the back of his throat. Flashing a drugged smile through half closed eyes, Joker tries to reach a hand out to Bruce, who has stepped into the room as the door shut behind him. The security cameras were, as requested, disconnected for ten minutes, so Bruce had no reason to be afraid, although he almost was. He had been worried Joker might blow his cover, and that was the last thing he wanted Arkham Asylum to know. So, with a little bargaining, Dr. Leland had agreed to ten unsupervised minutes, and not a second over.  
Bruce was hoping now would be the time for him to start cleaning things up, but Joker didn't seem to mind the mess at all. In fact, he wanted to further it, so by the time he was done Bruce wouldn't know where to begin. 

"Well look who decided to show up! Was it your conscience..? Your public image? Pity?! Go on! Say it...Tell me just how sorry you are!" Joker was laughing again like someone had just told him the most hilarious story in existence. But it wasn't funny, none of it. Because it was true. Yes, Bruce wanted to help ease the overall situation, but he had come to try and make things right.  
"Alright. If we're jumping into things, fine. I am sorry, John. I'm... I never meant for this to happen...For your life to be at risk. Things should've been done by the book, and no guns."  
Joker made a noise resembling a broken buzzer, "wrooong answer! You didn't mean to? Oh, boo hoo! Cry me a river and drown yourself in it! Look at you, you can't take it...can you? It's eating at you and...and it's hilarious-" Joker begins to cough dryly again, but it doesn't stop him. "You're only here to get some relief! To know you didn't walk away a killer; like me. You could've let me die. You...you wanted to."  
Bruce doesn't know what to say. He doesn't even think he can respond.  
"Listen, buddy...I know what you want..."  
Bruce doesn't think he can take the nickname either, because now it's said with so much hatred, so much menace; Bruce knows it's only to mock him.  
"We were friends...Pals. Buddies-" Joker was rambling. Was it the drugs? Bruce wasn't sure. "I knooow- I know what you want... You've always wanted it. Even when I was unconscious...But you controlled yourself-" Joker's face contorts in disgust, "because...because you're a 'good guy.' "  
Bruce wants to defend himself. He wants to tell Joker that what he is saying is only half true, and that he loved him. But, Bruce decides it's time to ditch his sad boy attitude and become Batman.  
"You don't know anything."  
Joker just grins at him in a way that makes Bruce want to punch him.  
"Oh I don't..? I know you wanna kiss me, Bats..."  
"What?!" Bruce hadn't been expecting such an accusation, especially in these circumstances; though deep down it was true. It was true but now was certainly not the time or place.  
"I know a lot more than you think, Bruce...Come closer, I'll whisper it to you. I'll whisper everything you need to hear so you can sleep at night. "  
Alfred's warnings of ' don't do anything stupid' are chiming loudly in Bruce's ears; he wishes he could listen to his head instead of his heart and all that Joker was promising him. He wishes he hadn't been stupid.  
"Okay. Tell me what it is I came here for, since you know everything."  
Joker jolts forward with a grunt, the gunshot wound ached but didn't stop him from leaning even closer once Batman was at eye level with him, crouched beside the bed.  
"Closer...Come get it. It's on the tip of my tongue-"  
Bruce hesitates but wastes no time plowing forward until their lips are touching and he knows, Bruce *knows,* this is all Joker had wanted when he sent for him. Sure, he wanted Bruce to beg for his forgiveness; for taking advantage of John. Joker wanted Bruce to cry and plead, only to turn him away. But the kiss? It was just a bonus Joker decided he deserved, along with pulling the strings of Bruce's guilty heart.  
For just a minute, no one else exists, it's just the two of them. The kiss had started off as if it were 'an accident,' though both of them knew it was nothing of the sort. It was angry, rough, and so wrong Bruce knew he wouldn't be able to look at himself afterwards.  
But just as Bruce felt his heart skip a beat in hopes this exchange could somehow mend things, he knew it had all been a sick game. It was clear once Joker had gotten Bruce's bottom lip between his teeth, this had all been an act. Joker bit down on Bruce's lip so hard he drew blood. A mean cackle rose from within his chest and Bruce suddenly shoved the other man off so roughly, he felt the skin on his lip split as Joker clamped his teeth down, trying to keep Bruce at his bedside.  
Joker was grinning ear to ear, smearing Bruce's blood all over his own lips with his tongue. "Sorry buddy! Y-You forgive me, though, right? Of course you do... Thanks! I mean, how else was I gonna get lipstick here? This color really suits me, dontcha think?"  
It had only been six minutes when Bruce demanded to leave; he was out of the building before anyone had the chance to ask how things went. He was humiliated beyond words at this point.  
As Bruce drove back home he decides he never wants to see Joker again. Hell, he never wants to think of him again, but he knows that's not a possibility. Bruce knows it's not possible because as soon as he enters the manor, Alfred will be asking what kind of irrational thing he's done now, and why on earth is his lip swollen and bleeding.  
Bruce decides to head straight to bed that night after patrol.  
~~~~~  
A couple days go by so routinely it feels mechanical. Although, Bruce isn't complaining. He hasn't been asked for by Dr. Leland again, and he's wondering if it has something to do with the fact Joker tried to bite his face off. Maybe.  
Even then, things seem boring, and Bruce feels guilty for his boredom. Shouldn't he be at peace that the people of Gotham haven't tried to tar and feather him yet? Still, it feels like something is missing and Bruce can't figure it out until he's made himself sick by thinking of Joker again. Bruce feels even sicker as he tries to forget he not only kissed a cold blooded killer, but that he loved him; his love for Joker was a contradiction to the very existence of Batman. It was beyond wrong. Bruce wasn't sure why in the hell he still had feelings for someone as vile as Joker; but, then he remembers John and how much John had given just to be merely noticed by him. How badly John had wanted to be loved. Bruce can't deny he feels guilty. He feels like all the good deeds he'd done as Batman were for not. John was gone. It was his fault and it hurt. He ignored John, took him for granted, took advantage even. If only he'd done things differently... If only...  
The sudden chime of the doorbell has Bruce nearly spilling his cup of coffee onto the dining room carpet; he's so relieved when not even a drop makes it's way onto the floor or Alfred would surely have a fit.  
Bruce mindfully composes himself and answers the door. Alfred usually does this, but Bruce was so on edge and so ready for... something. No matter what it was.  
Bruce had almost expected a citizen with a pitchfork- but what awaits his gaze is something very different. It was something alright.  
What appears to be a trash bag painted sloppily in cheap neon green paint, slouches against the doorstep heavily.  
"What in the hell..?"  
Bruce is cautious at first. This could be a trap. What if it's a bomb?  
But, his curiosity gets the better of him and he pushes aside any red flags telling him this isn't a good idea. The bag looks so strangely... familiar that Bruce can't pass it up.  
Once carefully opening the bag, Bruce wishes he hadn't. But by then it's too late to turn back and the smell is unforgettably repulsive. Most corpses have that smell, though.  
There's so much blood.  
As twisted as it sounds, this wouldn't have phased Bruce; hardly at all. He'd seen it all. What had his stomach in knots was the blood soaked note in sloppy hand writing. Not the note itself but what is said. Who it was from.  
'With love from your buddy 'John.' :) '  
Bruce steadies himself by grabbing onto the rail of the porch steps after dropping the bag of severed body parts in disbelief. A hand that was jagged and amateurishly amputated, falls at Bruce's feet as blood leaks from the trash bag and onto the porch. Little specs of broken white bone peek out from the wrist and it's only then Bruce realizes it.  
How could Joker do this from behind bars? Unless...he was no longer at Arkham.  
"Master Bruce? Is everything- Oh God-"  
Bruce swallows his nausea and turns to Alfred, who holds the same alarmed expression.  
"Who...who did this?"  
Bruce doesn't answer. He can't. It feels as if everything has stopped again. Everything is wrong and messy and so...damaged. Bruce doesn't know how to fix it. Is this Joker's idea of a prank?  
No one was laughing.  
The family of this former person certainly wouldn't find it the slightest bit amusing. Even the childishly drawn smiley faces can’t bring light to this situation. They’re finger painted in the victim's blood and in places they shouldn’t be. 

“I know who did this. What I don’t know is how or why. Get Gordon and the GCPD down here as soon as possible. I think… I think he's back.” Bruce ties the bag tightly shut to prevent further tampering with what is now evidence to another murder. “And Alfred-“ Bruce was already through the front door, “if he shows up, do what you have to…” 

“I will do what I must, sir...” 

~~

In record time Bruce pulls up outside the gates of Arkham Asylum. The building itself is tall and looming, even the shadows look like demons and the sun doesn’t seem to shine here. Ever. Bruce knows the place too well; but he persists anyway. Somehow, he knows that Joker is here. He can feel it. Joker is waiting for him to show up and everything will fall into place. There had to be some sort of meaning behind this; why the dismembered body? Why not Joker himself? Perhaps it was a message. Bruce is sure Joker wanted this. Joker knew everyone else would be out searching for him while Bruce would be the one to show up at his door. He knew Bruce so well it was chilling.  
Bruce leaves the Batmobile without any hesitancy, he knows why he’s here and he's sure Dr. Leland does. Knowing Alfred, he had already notified her or was in the process of doing so at this very minute. Before Bruce has the chance to consider breaking in, the gates are opened. So it appeared they did know Batman would arrive. Alfred was always one step ahead, Bruce admired that. 

Aside from faint screams, Bruce feels he can relax now; somewhat. Dr. Leland is just as tense but she won’t admit it through words.  
“Thank you for coming…”  
Bruce nods and begins to follow her down the narrow hallway.  
“He was more of our most improved patients- I don’t know if I was being fooled all along… But something changed in him. He’s different now. Ever since he left, he’s not the same.” 

Bruce can’t make eye contact. He can’t because he knows he’s partially, if not wholly responsible. Although he does question whether or not they were being toyed with from the start.

“You're right. He is different now. Give me some time alone with him. I can talk to him.” 

“Are you sure..? He’s a threat now. Sure, he had his outbursts before…But we never expected something like this. He’s dangerous. Be careful. I’m sorry ten minutes is all I can offer.” 

What Bruce could’ve said was never voiced. He was used to minimal talk or none at all when he was Batman. Unless he had to, he liked to keep quiet. Observe. It was easy to miss details when you weren’t inside your head with your thoughts. So, he nodded curtly and waited for Dr. Leland’s okay. 

“Ten minutes unsupervised. After that, the cameras come back on and your conversations will be monitored...If you can get him to tell you how he did this without leaving his cell... I'd be grateful, but don't risk your safety.” 

“I understand. Don’t worry about me.” Bruce slipped through the cell door and heard the lock clamp shut behind him. They were really taking things seriously. Good. The last thing Joker needed was free roam of the asylum. It hadn’t taken him long to realize it, but Bruce knew Joker had to he locked up. And that’s how it would always have to be now. There would be no more nighttime car rides or coffee shop visits; no partnering up as vigilantes; no friendship. No more second chances. Bruce couldn’t deny he felt for Joker, but he could ignore that he did. So that’s what he would do. This ‘if only’ mindset was useless. There was nothing to be done now but to move forward, towards the future. The past had to die; But, Bruce knew before it could, there were thorns that needed careful plucking and stubborn weeds to be pulled. It was similar to a rose bush. Roses always bloomed so beautifully, it was easy to ignore the thorns; they were always there and you always knew it, but the flower was so beautiful you pretended, for as long as you could, thorns didn’t exist and your fingers weren't bleeding. It was only when the flowers had wilted and were no longer captivating that you remembered the thorns and how you’d give anything to avoid the inevitable which was touching them again. Now without the distracting flower, you see the bush for what it is and how it’s just thorns and anguish after the beauty dies. 

John was beautiful.

The cell is tense with a silence that’s almost eerie. Bruce isn’t good with conversation starters and says nothing as he pulls a chair up to the small folding table where Joker is playing ‘war' with himself. It’s only been a day short of a week, but Bruce feels as though he hasn’t seen Joker in decades. If it weren’t for the stillness you’d think they were just two old friends catching up through a game of cards. Bruce tries not to stare but he can’t keep his eyes off Joker; no one would blame him though. Lock yourself in a room with a murderous clown and see how long it takes you to blink. Bruce wasn’t fearful, just cautious. Why Joker wasn’t in a straight jacket at this point was beyond him. Sadly Bruce knew Dr. Leland still had hope the ‘Joker' persona was just a side effect of trauma or mental un-stability that would wear off with time. So far, it hadn’t. 

"Did you bring that puzzle along that I sent you?" 

Bruce's throat tightens and he feels nauseous at the memory and the smell; he doesn’t show it though. He remains completely still and draws a card from the deck. 

Joker scowls when he receives no answer, "such a shame. I was really hoping we could put it back together... I love puzzles." 

Finally, Bruce can't just sit there saying nothing, "do you think this is funny? An officer is dead because of you." He can’t keep pretending Joker isn’t a murderer. A predator on the innocent. 

Joker's eyes widen, and for a couple seconds Bruce thinks he's sorry. 

"Oh man, buddy I... I'm sorry. I shouldn't speak ill of the dead. May he rest in peace...Or should I say... in pieces! Get it? I bet he's just dying to get into the cemetery-" 

Bruce just can't take Joker's bullshit anymore and grabs him by the throat. The table flips over and dozens of cards fall to the tiles of the floor. This little game was almost up, so was Bruce's patience.

"There goes our card game. You're so angry-" Joker snorts, his eyes on Bruce's hands that are clamped around his neck. 

"You shouldn't be laughing at this. I've excused your actions in the past but that stops now. This is not funny and it's getting old." 

Suddenly, Joker's smile fades and he just stares at Bruce in a lost sort of way. 

"What is it? Is your conscience bothering you now?" Bruce asks this a bit softer, but doesn't loosen his grip around Joker's neck. He knows now that he can’t. 

"Y'know...I think you just don't get it. People laugh all the time at things that aren't funny. Because they realise how reality works, that life is just one big game and we're all being played. Y'know, Bruce, half the time I'm laughing because you don't get the joke, and I do."

It took him a few seconds to respond, but when he did, Bruce seemed to have regained some self control. He could’ve strangled Joker if he’d wanted. But He didn’t, as bad as it sounds. It look more effort than it should have, but Bruce decided it then and there; Joker was his mistake and his only, so he'd be the one to fix him. If that were possible. 

Bruce had collected himself enough to get an answer of some sort, but he wouldn't dare word it the way Joker had when giving Dr. Leland this information. 

' Its fascinating what a crazy man will do with twenty bucks and chainsaw.' 

He could assure her that Joker hadn't left the building, he had just wanted some attention. If that's what he wanted, Bruce would by all means give it to him if it meant putting an end to hired criminals leaving dead bodies on his doorstep.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

“What do you take from a man who has nothing? A man with no money, no wife and kids; no car, no home- “ Joker pauses and stares at Bruce expectantly. 

He’d been at it for another week. Alfred was still iffy about it but Bruce knew that was a small price to pay if he could undo this error that was Joker. He came to see him daily, although it wasn’t strictly scheduled. He’d stop by whenever he could, be it night or day. Joker seemed to prefer night. It seemed that’s when he was most riled up and wanting to challenge Bruce, for whatever the reason. 

“What?” Bruce responds, bordering curiosity, but mainly to keep Joker occupied with conversation instead of violence. 

Joker grins at him, leaning uncomfortably close, “his sanity, of course.” 

“What are you implying?” Bruce watches as Joker shifts on the rickety steel bed, “that I caused your insanity..?” 

Joker smirks at him maliciously, “bingo.” 

Bruce can’t think of how to respond, but wouldn’t be able to as Joker keeps rambling. To himself, more than Bruce.  
“It's like the Doc says, Bruce… Madness…is created. We don’t just wake up one day and go nuts! …It…It takes time. Me, I was already on the edge. I just needed a push- And you. You gave it to me.” 

 

Bruce swallows uneasily, adjusts his cowl, and clears his throat, “go on.” 

“Now, now I’m always falling. The falling is where it gets weird. The falling into madness is what keeps me sane but it’s the cause of my insanity. Before the push, I was confused. But now that I know, now that I know I’ll just keep falling deeper and deeper into…madness, I’m in love. It’s a riveting feeling, really. Keeps me alive.” 

Bruce pulls the flimsy metal chair closer to Joker's bedside, “is there something you’re trying to tell me? Or are you just getting tired again?” Bruce tries to sound nonchalant, as if Joker isn’t giving him that sinking feeling of dread he's so accustomed to now. 

It’s quiet for a moment after Bruce asks this, he begins to wonder if Joker was about to pass out from sleep deprivation and medication, but he was wrong. Joker was staring out the window. He did that at odd times, Bruce had noticed. Before the calming stillness can form a prolonged silence, Bruce hears shaky exhaling and a sniff. This bothers him, possibly more than anything that’s been said tonight. 

“Joker?” 

“Bruce. “ 

“Yes?” 

There’s a pause, and another sniff, this time Joker turns to the man across from him, whereas before his gaze had been somewhere far away, “this…this thing you’ve got called hope… You gotta let it go. I'm not gonna get better, Bruce. Let me go.” 

The silence falls. Bruce feels like he just lost his parents again. Another person he loved was gone. It was so quick, so sudden, that he wasted no time mourning. He kept pushing forward like always.

“There's always hope. It’s all we have.”  
He can’t say how much it hurts to lose John like this, in this way. He can’t even see John anymore. He doesn’t see a monster, either. Just a lost man who he doesn’t know the name of. Who he doesn’t love. It hurts. He'll move on. He won’t like it. But he knows he will. 

“Even hope for a guy like me? You still have hope for me? Your...Your old buddy, John?” 

Was this the end? No. Bruce knew it wasn’t. For Gotham, it was over. Joker was behind bars and apparently ‘going to hell.’ Bruce couldn’t say he blamed them. He didn’t blame them. He blamed himself. He knew he'd thrive on every waking minute if the person who shot his parents was brought to justice, so why couldn’t Gotham have it’s triumph? However many lives Joker had taken remains a mystery, but Bruce was going to make sure it never happened again. He couldn’t guarantee change, he couldn’t even convince it, but he had hope and that’s all he needed.

“If you really cared about me like you said…Then admit it. You aren’t well either, Bats. We both belong in here. Stay with me…please?” 

Bruce's posture weakens and for once he's the one that’s unsure, without a plan. Despite his cowl and head tilted downwards, Joker can tell Bruce is actually considering it. It almost sends him into laughter, but his throat constricts and his cough prevents it. 

“So, uh…Whadda you say? You and me? In Arkham, together, for old times sake..?” 

Bruce still has his vision elsewhere, but he lifts his head to stare out the window. Joker can see through the windows that are his eyes, into his mind, that he’s really thinking about this. For once in his life of misfortune, Joker has hope. 

“I doubt this could work… I’m sorry. You know who I am. What I have to do. This city needs me more than ever.” 

 

“Okay, I'll say it.” Joker laughs dryly, there’s no humor to it now. Just emptiness. His chest feels hollow. He's got desperation written on his face. “I need you. If…If this is your idea of a second chance, trust me, I need you, as much as this city. I am the cause of it's disease, after all. You wanna rid the streets of this cancer, you cure me first.” 

Bruce exhales through his nose, disobeying the orders of keeping his distance, and taking a spot beside Joker on the frail bed. “how long? How long will it take? How many nights do you want me here?” 

“As long as it takes…” 

“You seriously want my help?” 

“I don’t *want* your help, I *need* it. I don’t *want* this at all. I *don't* want you here and I *won't* forgive you. But… I need you.” 

Hearing Joker say these things has Bruce conflicted. He hardly enjoys the idea of admitting himself to a place that seemingly does more harm than good. He can’t stay, he knows this. Is he really unwell? Should he even take to heart what Joker said? Reasonably, no. Could it take an insane man to notice when the sane are losing their grip? Maybe. But it was coming from Joker, who Bruce knows has effortlessly mastered manipulation at this point. Does he mean it? 

“Why do you need me?” 

Bruce wouldn’t call it a slip up, but he again involuntarily drops the tough guy act and is all soft again when Joker sighs, his lanky arms wrapping around his knees as they scrunch up to his chest; his entire body shrivels in defeat and he hangs his head. Joker won’t give up, he hasn't and he probably never will. But beside him, Bruce knows, is a man just as lost and confused as the rest of the world. Not a monster, but a man who was broken and lonely and so desperate to be loved. Bruce reminds himself as his heart begins pounding against his chest, that he can still love the person behind the monster that is the Joker. He can still love John and hate what he does, only because when their eyes meet again, Joker is crying and he just can’t understand it. 

“Why do I need you?” Joker scoffs through tears and a shaky breath, “because you’re what I deserve. All I have. Who in their right mind wants to help me? You. Only you, Bruce. And there lies your reason for needing Arkham. Only a sick man would offer help to someone who’s plagued. If you weren’t sick you’d leave, so you don’t catch whatever the hell it is I have. But no. We're the same. Two threads in the same stitch, remember? You’re sick. I’m sicker. We don’t contaminate each other. We can’t. That’s why I need you.” 

Bruce is tempted to remove his cowl so this conversation might seem more real. He knows he's pushing his luck. He knows the security camera will be back on soon. At this point he’s not even sure who Joker is speaking to anymore. Bruce Wayne or Batman? Bruce feels like it has to be Batman. Bruce was John’s friend and as of now, Bruce isn’t here, just Joker and Batman. 

“I need you, too.” Bruce finally mutters through clenched teeth. He hates admitting things, especially when he knows he shouldn’t. 

Joker laughs. Bruce doesn’t. 

“Billionaire Bruce needs no one. He’s got his mansion and his cat.” 

“Bruce can’t exist without Batman. Batman can’t exist without Joker.” 

Joker’s face falls and his expression is a mixture of horror and pure bliss, “so you do need me. I was right.”


End file.
